During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. 25 <4> THE ARRIVAL OF THE BLACK DEATH He loved her many times, especially in the first month. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed.
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